


for reasons wretched and divine

by Singofsolace



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: (to get out of a sticky situation), F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Sexual Harassment, Spellwell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singofsolace/pseuds/Singofsolace
Summary: To keep up the appearance of the Spellman family being a part of the mortal community, Zelda Spellman attends a fundraising dinner held by her brother’s fiancé, Diana Sawyer. Zelda comes to regret her attendance, however, when the notorious bachelor, Mr. Kinkle, takes interest in her. When Mary Wardwell witnesses Mr. Kinkle’s advances, she takes a leap of faith, much to Zelda’s surprise and relief. But will Mary's well-intentioned actions have unforeseen consequences in a town as small as Greendale?
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell, Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 47
Kudos: 109
Collections: Madam Spellman May





	for reasons wretched and divine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic occurs twenty-one years before CAOS canon. It operates under the assumption that Edward and Diana Spellman dated for a number of years before they were married and had Sabrina. It also assumes that Mr. Kinkle wasn’t married yet, and Mary Wardwell was already a “confirmed” spinster, i.e., an unmarried sapphic woman, at the ripe old age of thirty-two.
> 
> The title is borrowed from Hozier's song, "Jackie and Wilson." The context of the line is: "So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes / No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight / So deep in the swirl with the most familiar swine / For reasons wretched and divine."
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Also, if you'd like the fic to continue, feel free to let me know. I meant this to be more of a "fake dating" fic than it turned out to be. Oh well. My inspiration is completely out of my control. But, if lots of people want to see this continued, I think it has the potential to be a great "fake dating" fic, because word of Spellwell is going to spread through Greendale like wildfire!

Zelda Spellman truly didn’t know how she had come to find herself sitting at a garishly-decorated table, staring down at a plate of food that looked less and less appetizing the longer she contemplated it. It was some kind of Italian or French dish—at least, Zelda sincerely hoped it was, because if it wasn’t, she truly had no idea what it was meant to be. The fundraiser had cost one hundred dollars a plate, and yet, the food seemed amateur at best. While she begrudgingly admitted that her future sister-in-law, Diana Sawyer, couldn’t be faulted for attempting to raise money for the Children’s Hospital across the river, her catering left much to be desired.

Abandoning her fork and knife entirely, Zelda fiddled with the name plate in front of her so as to have something to do with her hands that wasn’t smoking or drinking—Mrs. Sawyer, Diana’s mother, had made it known to her last Yuletide that she disapproved of Zelda’s “unsavory” habits. In elegant, looping script, Diana had written: _Miss Zelda Spellman_. For some reason the use of “Miss” set her teeth on edge; she was _Sister_ Zelda Spellman, Professor of Ancient Tongues and Sacred Scriptures at the Academy of Unseen Arts.

While she knew the whole point of attending this Satan-forsaken event was to keep up appearances in front of Diana’s extended mortal family, the honorific stung. It labeled her as unmarried, which, when one appeared to be a woman of fifty, tended to come with the assumption that something was wrong with her, as spinsterhood was often regarded with suspicion in the tiny town of Greendale.

“Aren’t you going to eat, sister?” said Edward rudely from across the table, interrupting whatever asinine conversations were being carried on by the rest of the group. It was as if he—or perhaps Diana—didn’t trust her to be alone among mortals, and so they had placed her where they could keep an eye on her.

“I had a large lunch,” said Zelda, trying to convey with her eyes that Edward ought to drop the subject if he knew what was good for him.

“But you _must_ try the chicken fren-chase,” said Mrs. Sawyer, who was seated to Edward’s left. “It’s divine.”

Zelda tried not to cringe at the butchered pronunciation of “française.”

“Mother,” Diana interrupted, shooting Zelda an apologetic look from where she sat on Edward’s right. “Zelda can eat—or not eat—whatever she likes.”

“I’ve never met a pickier woman,” Mrs. Sawyer bristled. “I only ever see a glass of whiskey or a cigarette in your hand. You’ll be dead by the time you’re my age, at this rate.”

Zelda only barely stopped herself from saying that she was actually three times that age, thank you very much, and perfectly healthy apart from her high blood pressure.

“Don’t be a nag, Harriet,” said Mr. Sawyer, who was seated next to his wife. “The money goes to the hospital whether she eats or not. Let the woman starve, if she so pleases.”

“Zelda,” Edward implored, clearly not interested in having to run interference between his future in-laws and his sister, “you’re being rude.”

“ _I’m_ being rude?” Zelda raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“I think I need a drink,” said the man to Zelda’s right. She suspected Edward had put her beside him in a puerile attempt at matchmaking. “Would you like to join me, Miss Spellman?”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Zelda, jumping at the opportunity to leave the table.

As they walked to the bar, Zelda was surprised to feel the man’s hand pressing against the small of her back. She disliked being touched by strangers—a mortal stranger, no less—but she did feel slightly in his debt for how he offered her a way out of that excruciating conversation.

“So,” said the man as he ordered them both double shots of whiskey, neat. Zelda was a bit annoyed at his presumptuousness; she had planned to order a club soda, if only to prove to Mrs. Sawyer that she wasn’t a drunk. “It looks like you’ve gotten on the wrong side of Harriet Sawyer.”

“Does she have a ‘right’ side?” said Zelda without humor as she accepted the glass of whiskey.

The man snorted. “No. Especially when it comes to her daughter.”

Zelda wrinkled her nose at the strength of the drink. Was the bartender in cahoots with this man to get her drunk…? If so, they would be sorely disappointed; a witch’s tolerance was much higher than a mortal’s.

“Are you telling me you dated my brother’s fiancé? Because that is definitely a line of flirtation I haven’t encountered before,” Zelda said, already wondering if she should've stayed at the dinner table.

Zelda watched in mild alarm as the man drained his glass like it was nothing and asked for another.

“I thought we could bond over being undesirable,” said the man, though he combined the comment with a heated gaze that traveled down her body in a highly forward manner, indicating that he found her not at all undesirable. “You wanna dance?”

“What?” said Zelda, nearly choking on her second sip of whiskey. “I just started nursing my drink.”

“Then don’t nurse it,” he said, downing his second glass in the same manner as the first.

“Excuse me,” said Zelda, not following his lead, “but I don’t believe I know your name.”

“Kinkle,” the man grunted as he slammed his glass down on the bar counter. It was then that Zelda noticed his hands—they were the calloused hands of a laborer, not an intellectual—and everything slid into place.

“Your family owns the mine, doesn’t it?” said Zelda, the whiskey on her tongue suddenly tasting like ash. When he nodded, she tried not to let her intense hatred show on her face. “You’re descended from the Von Kunkles, then?”

Immediately, she realized that she'd made a foolish and unthinkable mistake.

Mr. Kinkle eyed her suspiciously. “We haven’t been called Von Kunkles in over two hundred years.”

Zelda’s heart began to race. This man was neither as stupid nor as incapacitated as she thought him to be. He was descended from _witch hunters_. He knew exactly what to do with a witch once he'd found one. Without intending to, she'd placed herself, her family, and potentially her entire _coven_ in mortal danger.

“How about that dance?” asked Mr. Kinkle, his eyes still sharp with suspicion. She couldn't imagine why he'd want to dance with her after the discovery he'd just made, though Zelda thought it might be akin to a cat playing with a mouse before eating it. 

“I don’t dance, Mr. Kinkle,” said Zelda, drinking the rest of her whiskey as fast as she could, needing the alcohol to steady the panic rising inside her.

“Pretty ladies like you always know how to dance,” said Mr. Kinkle, taking the empty glass from her hand and grabbing her by the wrist. “Come on.”

He proceeded to drag her onto the dance floor, Zelda making a considerable effort not to broadcast that something was wrong despite his bruising grip. Not wanting to make a scene in front of a room full of mortals, she allowed him to lead her in a lively swing dance. She hated the way he propelled her body so easily, treating her as if she were no more than a ragdoll. Within minutes she was panting from the exertion, not having participated in a mortal ritual like this in decades.

Then the music changed to a slow dance, and Zelda had to bite her lip to keep from saying something she might regret when he pulled her closer than was appropriate for two strangers.

“I know you’re hiding something. You _and_ your brother,” Mr. Kinkle whispered harshly into her ear as his hands began to wander lower, pressing their lower bodies together so that there was no mistaking his next words, “but I think we could negotiate a situation where I’m inclined to forget you ever said the name, ‘Von Kunkle.’”

Zelda felt dizzy with the implication. She wasn’t unfamiliar with her body being the price for her family’s safety, but there was something about the way his rough, calloused hands were touching her possessively that made her think that no matter what she did, he wouldn’t forget her slip unless she _made_ him forget with magic. But performing magic on a mortal in front of so many witnesses was a risky business—especially when her brother had explicitly insisted on her presence here today to alleviate suspicion, not attract it.

Mr. Kinkle seemed to take her silence as acceptance, placing a wet kiss to the side of her neck. She tried and failed not to flinch away from his mouth.

Just then, someone coughed rather loudly to their right.

“Excuse me? Do you mind if I cut in?” said a mysterious, mousy-looking woman.

Mr. Kinkle was surprised enough by the sudden interruption that he let Zelda go. Breathing a sigh of relief, Zelda immediately took a few steps away, distancing herself from the dangerous son-of-a-witch-hunter.

Zelda expected the woman to slip into Mr. Kinkle’s arms, but instead, she timidly reached out to take Zelda’s hand. Mr. Kinkle was about to protest when the strange woman interrupted him.

“You see, this is my—my _partner_ , and I don’t appreciate you touching her like that.”

At first, Mr. Kinkle didn’t seem to understand. His eyes flitted from Zelda to the woman in confusion, before they widened in surprise and disgust. He turned to address Zelda, his voice dripping with hate.

“You didn’t tell me you were a homo-sexual,” said Mr. Kinkle, pausing strangely between syllables before spitting on the ground. His raised voice didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the partygoers; several dancers had stopped to turn and stare, and Zelda could see her brother and the Sawyers being drawn in by the spectacle out of the corner of her eye.

Not wanting to prolong the moment, or dignify the words with a response, the strange woman placed a hand on Zelda’s hip and began dancing, pointedly ignoring the shocked and appalled stares they were incurring. Mr. Kinkle stormed off, back to the bar, where he stayed for the remainder of the night, drinking himself into a stupor.

“Thank you,” said Zelda, when she finally found her voice. “That was very brave—but terribly stupid. Miss…?”

“Wardwell,” the woman answered. “I don’t know what came over me. I just—I meant what I said. I didn’t like the way he was… I didn’t like what he was doing. You looked like you needed an excuse to get away.”

“This town is a small one,” mused Zelda, not wanting to admit the Wardwell woman was right. “They won’t forget what you said. I hope you don’t come to regret it.”

“I won’t,” said Miss Wardwell, giving Zelda’s hand a squeeze before something seemed to dawn on her. “Oh—but I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how it would reflect on _you_ —”

“I, too, have always loved the fairer sex,” said Zelda, not wanting an incorrect assumption to be made. “I'm not saying you shouldn’t be who you are; simply that life might be more difficult for a while, after tonight. The people of Greendale are terribly small-minded.”

“It was worth it," Mary Wardwell insisted, her forehead furrowing as she ran her thumb over a red mark on Zelda's wrist. Zelda was overcome with unexpected fondness for this stranger, pulling her closer with a sigh of a relief.

They danced in silence for a while after that, neither woman seeming to need to discuss the subject any further. The song was nearing its end when they were forced apart by another set of hands landing on Zelda’s shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin, having lost herself in the dance.

“Sister!” hissed Edward, his face red. “May I speak with you? _In private._ ”

“No, you may not,” said Zelda, wrenching her arm away from him when he tried to lead her away.

“I brought you here so that you would gain approval from Diana’s parents—not scandalize them!”

Mary Wardwell’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—it was my fault—”

“No, it wasn’t,” Zelda insisted, reaching for Mary’s hand. “I should think the scandal ought to have been that man—Mr. Kinkle—touching me inappropriately in front of a room full of people who stood by and did nothing, _except_ for Miss Wardwell.”

“Mr. Kinkle is a bachelor and a drunk. You’re an attractive—if insufferable—woman. It is only to be expected that he would be… inappropriate.”

“If Diana’s parents can’t even accept this,” said Zelda, lifting Mary's hand and lacing their fingers together even as the nervous woman blushed, “then they’ll never accept me as part of their family. I doubt they will even accept _you_ , Edward.”

Edward leaned into her space, anger coming off him in waves. He lowered his voice to deliver a thinly-veiled threat, “We’ll discuss this later, sister, when you've had time to come to your senses.”

With that, Edward stormed off, leaving Zelda and Mary standing alone on the dance floor.

“I’m sorry—” began Miss Wardwell, but Zelda immediately interrupted her.

“Don’t you dare apologize again.”

“I think I should probably go,” said Mary, looking around them at a sea of unkind faces. “I came because it was a fundraiser for a good cause, but I’m not usually one to attend events like this in the first place. I much prefer a quiet night at my cottage.”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Zelda wistfully.

Mary tilted her head. “I was thinking of making a pot of tea the moment I got home. Would you… like to join me?”

Zelda took in the sweet woman’s hopeful face, before turning to watch her brother try to smooth things over with his future in-laws, who were both still eyeing the two women like they were monsters.

“I would like that very much,” said Zelda, linking her arm around Mary Wardwell’s elbow in a public show of support. “Lead the way.”

They were partners, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: While it seems a bit silly to credit Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa as the owner of these characters and this universe, considering he himself stole/borrowed/recreated them, let's give it a go. 
> 
> I do not own these characters, nor the universe in which they live. They belong to Archie Comics, which sent Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa himself a cease and desist for his blatant fanfic-turned-play, "Archie's Weird Fantasy," not too long ago. Please do not sue me; I am an unemployed adjunct professor writing fanfiction purely for entertainment purposes. I have very little money, but a whole lot of love for complicated female characters. While I do not wish to be sued, I would very much enjoy being given a position as show-runner for writing some great fanfic. I eagerly await your email.


End file.
